


New Arrival

by espetrell



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Kickboxing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:32:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espetrell/pseuds/espetrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"[Grantaire] also knew how to kickbox and make his way around a gymnasium and a dance floor, and he was a natural with a singlestick in stickfighting." -Victor Hugo, "Les Miserables"</p>
<p>Modern AU. Grantaire and Bahorel meet a new student at their kickboxing class. Grantaire is infatuated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Arrival

Grantaire and Bahorel always showed up to kickboxing class early to get ready at their leisure and gossip about the other athletes.

“Heard that there’s someone new coming in today,” Bahorel announced upon his arrival.

“Oh, yeah?” Grantaire pulled off his shirt in one tug and slipped into a tank top with the logo of the kickboxing studio on it. “Good, we need more people. Apparently both Thenardier and Jondrette aren’t gonna be coming back.”

“Good riddance. What assholes. Have you seen my mouth guard?” Bahorel replied distractedly.

“You left it here last week. Again. Here it is,” Grantaire said, tossing the mouth guard’s case at Bahorel’s face. Bahorel ducked, laughing.

“Thanks, man. Oh, hey,” Bahorel turned around and addressed the instructor, who had just walked into the small room they trained in. “Is the new kid coming today?”

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s him at the door,” the instructor answered, waving at the blonde that had materialized in the doorway.

“Hey there!” Bahorel called out to the newcomer, who was looking around warily.

“Hello,” the blonde replied, walking briskly over to where Bahorel and Grantaire were sitting, “I’m-“

“Woah, wait a sec!” Bahorel grinned, holding up his hands. “Before I can let you continue, let me inform you that in this room, we go by last names only. Instructor’s rules.” He checked to make sure the instructor, who was busy putting on his own gear, wasn’t listening. “He’s weird about that. Likes us all to be formal.”

“Okay,” said the blonde, shrugging amiably. “I guess I’m Enjolras, then. And you?”

“I’m Bahorel,” said Bahorel.

“I’m Grantaire,” Grantaire added after a pause. Bahorel had been so interested in the new arrival that he hadn’t even noticed that Grantaire, usually just as willing to engage in friendly banter as Bahorel, had been quiet up until now. When Bahorel took a closer look at him, he could see why - Grantaire was staring at Enjolras with a kind of reverence that Bahorel had never seen on him before. Enjolras seemed to be oblivious, though, and it was probably due to the close friendship between Grantaire and Bahorel that the latter had even noticed.

“So, have you ever kickboxed before? Or is this your first time?” Grantaire asked, seemingly somewhat recovered from whatever had struck him silent before.

“For kickboxing, yeah, but I’m a black belt in karate. I wanted to try something new.” Enjolras explained. Bahorel nodded.

“Enjolras! Do you want to pay right now or wait until class is over?” called the instructor.

“Always gets to the point,” murmured Grantaire, provoking a laugh from Bahorel.

“Oh! I can pay now. Lemme go get my wallet - I think I left it in my car,” Enjolras called back, patting his pockets in search of the wallet. “I’ll be right back,” he said, smiling at Grantaire and Bahorel before exiting the door. Grantaire stared rather blatantly at his receding back, only stopping when another student came through the door and gave him a strange look.

       “Jeez, Grantaire,” Bahorel exclaimed when he was sure that Enjolras was gone, “I’d ask you for your hotness rating for that guy, but I think I already know what you’ll say.”

“No, you don’t,” Grantaire murmured.

“What, not a 10? I mean, I’d give him an 8 myself, but-“

“Eleven.” Grantaire whispered in awe.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. An 8? How could you? I am never skipping a class ever again if that hot piece of-“ Enjolras came back into the room, cutting off Grantaire’s sentence. Enjolras was not looking in their direction, so he missed Grantaire’s deep blush and Bahorel’s suppressed laughter. “Do you make change?” he asked the instructor, pulling a couple of bills out of his wallet.

“Yeah, but with an extra 5 dollars you can have one of our shirts,” the instructor answered, pointing over his shoulder at the tank tops hanging behind him.

“OK,” Enjolras said, “Can I have the red one? In medium?”

“Sure,” said the instructor, tossing one at Enjolras, who caught it in midair.

“When he did that to you, it hit you straight in the face,” Bahorel couldn’t resist reminding Grantaire, who groaned in embarrassment.

“Don’t you-“ Grantaire started to retort, but stopped when Enjolras undid the top button of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Enjolras was far muscular than was visible when he was wearing a long-sleeve t-shirt. To make matters worse, Enjolras grumbled, “Damn that shirt, too tight,” and stretched his arms above his head, bringing triceps and abs into focus.

“That’s just cruel,” muttered Grantaire so only Bahorel could hear, eyes glued to Enjolras’ torso. “What did I do right to get God to send an actual angel to strip in front of me?”

“Get a hold of yourself, Grantaire,” Bahorel whispered back urgently as Enjolras moved in their direction. Grantaire only sat forward and raised his voice to say, “Hey! Enjolras!”

“What?” Enjolras asked. He had been about to throw on the tank top, but lowered it to hear what Grantaire had to say. Grantaire looked delighted.

“You got your own gear?”

“Yeah, I do,” Enjolras answered. “Why?”

“Nothing, just curious,” Grantaire backtracked, embarrassment clear on his face. Somehow, Enjolras still didn’t notice the obvious attempt to make small talk for its own sake. “It’s sometimes hard to find places that sell gloves and stuff. I had to get mine used.”

“It wasn’t too hard,” Enjolras frowned, “There’s a place right by my house.”

“Are you all ready to start?” The instructor called, bringing Bahorel, Grantaire and Enjolras to attention, as well as the other small groups that had gathered while they had talked. Enjolras finally pulled his shirt on (which was an absolute tragedy) and walked to join the rest of the group. Grantaire made a show of readjusting his hand-wraps in the corner of the room to whisper, “Please help me make sure I get to spar with that hottie.”

“Okay,” agreed Bahorel, pulling Grantaire towards the rest of the group, who were watching them impatiently. “But god, if you spend the whole class staring at his back, this is going to be the longest hour of my life.”

“It’s going to be a long hour, then,” Grantaire murmured ecstatically. Bahorel groaned. Class would never be the same now that Grantaire had found this new infatuation. With a forceful sigh, Bahorel pushed the matter from his mind and began the exercises along with the rest of the class. Grantaire’s love life was a problem for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> I might keep going with this eventually, but right now I'm pretty tied up in other AUs so this one's got lower priority. It works as a standalone, so it might stay that way. Give me your thoughts, as always!


End file.
